Conditions
by Pilla Jeffrey
Summary: Paul Ballard has some conditions in regards to his employment at the Dollhouse. "Omega" Episode Tag. Paul/November.


**TITLE: **Conditions**  
AUTHOR: **Pilla Jeffrey**  
CATEGORY: **Angst, Drama, Episode Tag**  
PAIRING: **Paul/November

**SPOILERS: **Everything up to and especially "Omega"**  
RATING: **PG**  
CONTENT WARNINGS: **super!angst**  
SUMMARY: **Paul Ballard has some conditions in regards to his employment at the Dollhouse. "Omega" Episode Tag. Paul/November.**  
STATUS: **Complete**  
ARCHIVE: **anywhere else, ask.**  
DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Dollhouse.**  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: **I actually am not that big of a Paul/November shipper, but I was completely teary at the end of "Omega." Their love is so tragic that I couldn't help but spin it into fan fic. I feel like Paul's release of November is so complicated: he's trying to cleanse himself of using her, avoiding seeing her at work, figuring out if his belief in the remaining soul could extend to their relationship. It was such a touching scene. Just beautifully done.

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**Conditions**

"You saved the girl," Adelle DeWitt remarked, smirking. "Congratulations."

Paul returned the bitter grin. "I'm surprised how long you've been able to stay underground if this is how you conduct your business."

Adelle raised an eyebrow. "Surprisingly, I appreciate your criticism, Mr. Ballard. You may find me a heartless madam of your fictional whorehouse, but on the contrary, I care incredibly for all of my actives. Which is why I'd like to offer you a job."

Paul fell back in his chair, stunned. "Why is that?"

"Mr. Ballard, I have two options. The first is to offer you a job that allows you to keep saving the girl. The second is to send you to the Attic. The decision is yours." She crossed her legs and rested her hands atop her knee, eyebrow still raised. She knew what decision he would make. So did he.

He stood up. "I have conditions."

She scoffed at him. "Please, Mr. Ballard. What cards do you have left to play?"

"I still have contacts at the FBI. Ones that believe me about the Dollhouse. They have enough information to find you eventually, even without my help. You agree to my conditions, I make that evidence go away."

Adelle pursed her lips. She was silently weighing her options, but displayed no emotion. "What conditions?"

Her face flickered across his eyes as the touch of her hand brushed against his skin, the moan of her lips against his throat. "I want you to free an Active. Full release, full payment."

Adelle laughed. "Your beloved Caroline? Once more, her white knight comes to save the day."

"Mellie."

Her eyes widened. "November, really? After your endless mission to free Caroline? I'm going to tell you that November isn't nearly as valuable to us as Echo is."

"She's worth the world." His tone was flat. "And she's the terms of my employment."

Adelle smiled and nodded. "Done. Let's get it in writing, shall we?"

***

She couldn't believe it had been five years.

Okay, so it had been three years. An anonymous benefactor had bought out her contract, which Madeline found unlikely. More likely was that she wasn't worth a cent to them because no one wanted a chubby, morose Plain Jane as a lover or super secret spy and it was simply cheaper to let her go than pay for her to eat their food and enjoy their recreational facilities for another two years. She had been amazed that Adelle DeWitt had been interested in the first place.

Everything felt the same. Same weight (she swore there had been a pool and a gym in there—couldn't they have shaved off a few pounds while she was absent from her body?). Same hair. Same eyes.

Plenty had changed. A new president, a new economic crisis, no more _Gilmore Girls_. She had to catch herself every time she repeated the date in her head so she wouldn't seem like some psycho nut job on the street. She had a long scar on her right upper thigh that wasn't there the day before—three years before, she corrected herself.

But the one thing that had changed—the one thing they had specifically promised they had no way of changing—was her grief. The breathless, harrowing pain shooting through her when she remembered Katie that had existed just the day previous had reached a quiet acceptance. It felt…_resolved_, like she had gotten an opportunity to grieve, to pour over Katie's grave and come to terms. She was surprised and pleasantly so. She didn't know if they had messed with her head, but she didn't care. She felt a little more whole.

She buttoned the front of her shirt dress. The same dress she wore when she came in just yesterday. The wet spots where her tears clung to the fabric were long dried and dry-cleaned away.

As she pinned back her hair, she couldn't help but think that she must be horribly out of style and that by this time neon and silver unitards must be a fashion 'do.' But she realized she was being silly and dismissed the thought.

She would see the world soon enough.

***

"Come in, my dear. I just have a few things for you to sign and then our business will be completed." Adelle led her to the sofa and Madeline sat next to her, taking the pen into her hand.

"Thank you," Madeline replied automatically.

The man across from her looked at her—evaluated her. Maybe he was Adelle's right-hand man? Or perhaps her handler? God, what if he had seen her do something ridiculous or skanky on an engagement? What if he had seen her _naked_? A handsome man like that could have seen her naked! She'd have no idea! Her eyes flicked to the paper and back to him. All she knew was that he looked at her like he knew her and wanted her to recognize him and she couldn't. Was her entire life now going to be like this? People looking at her, _knowing her_, and her having no idea?

She ventured. "Hello."

His eyes evaluated for a beat longer than comfortable then answered, "Hello."

***

She didn't know him. And for some reason that made him feel better and worse at the same time.

If souls remained in the doll even without the person there, could you still find your soulmate in the hollow shell? Or were soulmates just as much an illusion as the love that had been manufactured before his eyes and in his heart?

And, most importantly, did souls forgive the sins that the consciousness could not?

***

"I feel like I just got here."

Adelle smiled, embracing her in a motherly way that felt contrived. "Of course."

The more time she spent in Adelle's arms, the more she was aware of how she needed to get out of here. "Okay. Thanks again. Bye."

She walked fast. The sudden weight of her missing lives was creeping onto her.

A voice stopped her in her tracks. "Excuse me. I don't think I got your name."

She turned. It was the man who had sat opposite her. He was making a better attempt at remaining casual, but his searching eyes couldn't be muted. Inexplicably, she felt drawn to him. Which was ridiculous. She barely knew who she was anymore, let alone who he was. But before she knew it, she had extended her hand to him and he had accepted it. "Madeline. Madeline Costley."

His fingers trembled through hers and her breath fluttered lightly. "Madeline. That's a lovely name."

He was making conversation—any conversation—and she knew that anything that she said would be a disappointment. The only thing that popped into her head was the one question she knew he couldn't answer: "And you are?"

His lips turned upwards into an ironic smile. "I'm nobody."

***

As Boyd walked Ballard to his new office, he couldn't help but notice a heaviness in the former FBI's step. He stopped walking and faced Paul, masking his discomfort. "Just so you know, I don't approve of how they used November against you. It was before my tenure as Security Chief."

Paul murmured something, but didn't articulate it.

"What?"

"Madeline. Her name is Madeline. And I used her just as badly as the Dollhouse did. You don't owe me any apologies." His eyes were dark and hard, his jaw tight. "She deserves so much more than I can give her. Now where's my office?"

Boyd extended an arm down the hall and Paul followed it.

***

When Madeline got home, there was a small card on the table. In masculine script, it said _You have done more than you will ever know. I'm sorry._

In the oven was a pan of lasagna.

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